The Fop’s Tale

The day began inauspiciously.Well, well, I have patients who visit my family.Silly, they don’t count.But they’re alive, aren’t they?He’s over here now with the invoices,sort of cheap and busy,fed by the scratchy wind.

They get in bed togetherbefore going to bedas if they needed any.Come to the fish.

It’s a good thing we weren’t living in our country,in any country, in fact, really,if we don’t go there anyway.Now go to sleep and I’ll wake youup before the store opens.We had a couple more walkouts,then the coast was clear.Isn’t that a different consulate?

Who left the faucet running? By the timeit was over, thousands of hectares had been inundated.To feed that room. He waits for me andmakes sure I am explaining the life of the mind.Everybody makes the same children with them.Weather tipped the guy off,dropped the snowball.

Once there are people who died like the others,gave up those endorsementsof selective authors,questioned me out andthat may happen.Pale hands I loved,too numerous to mention.What kind of a name is that?